


silent treatment

by orphan_account



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Blood, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Dick Grayson Needs a Hug, Gen, Hopeful Ending, Hurt Dick Grayson, Major Character Injury, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Protective Dick Grayson, the batfamily loves each other and they love their big brother
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-26
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-17 19:21:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29722002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: They don’t like how mouthy Nightwing is, and well, there just so happens to be a permanent solution to that little problem.
Relationships: Cassandra Cain & Dick Grayson, Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson & Damian Wayne, Dick Grayson & Jason Todd, Stephanie Brown & Dick Grayson, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson
Comments: 26
Kudos: 351





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> because i was writing my whumptober forced mutism fic and though hm what if i make this even worse 
> 
> dick i am so sorry

Tim wakes up to the sound of bickering and immediately considers just going back to sleep. His head is screaming at him and his eyelids feel like they weigh a million pounds, so the temptation to slip back into blissful unconsciousness really is a strong one. But he can’t quite remember how he got here, or why Damian and Jason would be arguing in his bedroom of all places, so he fights against the pressing drowsiness and manages to get his chin up off of his chest.

His neck aches, cracking as he straightens up with a groan. Blinking drearily, he finds himself in a dank and dirty room. It’s full-on villain lair, complete with the sound of a steadily dripping pipe and flickering fluorescent lights. 

“Finally awake, sleeping beauty?” a voice nags from somewhere to his left. He turns to glare at Steph, realizing in the process that his wrists and ankles are secured tightly to the chair he’s seated in. Great. At this point he’d almost rather have Damian and Jason fighting in his room. At least then they wouldn’t all be trapped in some creepy windowless compound.

“What happened?” he asks, voice annoyingly groggy. How’d Damian manage to wake up before him? He’s only like four feet tall; it’s unfair.

Steph shrugs as best as she can with her arms strapped to her own seat. “Took a group nap. Woke up here.”

With a sigh, Tim turns to his other side. “Batgirl?”

“Drugged,” Cass oh so helpfully supplies, as if Tim couldn’t figure out that much from the pounding at his temples. “Human traffickers. Hood thinks plan is to auction us. Robin says Hood not good enough to be auctioned.”

“It’s wildly entertaining,” Steph adds. Tim has to disagree. Damian and Jason argue every time one of them is in the other’s line of sight. As much as Tim enjoys not being the one insulted for once, it’s gotten old.

“Great,” he says, leaving Steph to her fun. Not like they’re tied up to be auctioned off or anything. 

He finishes cataloguing the rest of his siblings: Jason and Damian are still bickering over nothing at this point, while Dick just seems to be staring into space, his ability to older brother mediate sapped out of him by the sheer stupidity of the argument as well as the major headache he’s likely also sporting. No one really seems to be injured beyond a few bumps and bruises—Jason’s missing his helmet, revealing the blood that trickles down from a cut in his hairline, while Damian is sporting a massive bruise that colors half of his chin. Dick appears to have some sort of injury to his right bicep, most likely a bullet graze, although it’s already been dressed and wrapped, barely any blood seeping through the stark white bandages. Steph has a nasty-looking black eye, but Cass looks relatively untouched, which yeah, that figures. All of their identities seem to be still intact which would match up with Jason’s auctioning theory. Most likely whoever purchases them will pay more for the honor of getting to be the ones to unmask a Bat.

As if on cue, the heavy metal door swings open, rust and hinges creaking and sending chills up Tim’s spine. Five men walk in, dressed in dark clothes. All of them have guns, either already in hand or holstered in their belts. They could have other weapons as well, or any variety of torture devices, although if they’re traffickers, that’s probably not their MO.

“I recognize you,” Nightwing says, grinning at these guys like they’re old friends. Tim rolls his eyes behind his mask. “How have you been?”

“Better these days,” the man in the middle sneers. “Now that we have you.” He steps forward while the others hang back. The leader, then, although he looks exactly as smarmy and stupid as the rest of his men. “You’re going to earn us a tidy sum.”

Jason rolls his neck. “Are you planning on bringing all your little customers in here for the auction? Because as soon as you try to move us…” He grins, sharp and bright like a shark. “Well, I don’t think it’ll be a lot of fun for you guys when you take these cuffs off.” 

The leader smiles, unbothered. “Well, if you’d like, we could have a little fun first. My men have been bored lately.”

“Aw, is human trafficking really that dull?” Steph butts in. “That sucks. Glad I decided on a different career path.”

“I wouldn’t be so disrespectful if I were you,” says the leader. “If you hadn’t noticed, we’re the ones in control here. We could do anything to you.”

“Oh please,” Hood says. “It’s not like you can do anything to us without risking your big payday.”

“How sure are you about that? Do you really think people wouldn’t pay big money to get their hands on a Bat? Even one that’s been a bit… roughed up?”

“Not as much,” Tim pipes up. “Why would they pay for one of us to come pre-tortured? Where’s the fun in that?”

“Maybe we’ll just cut off Red Hood’s fingers,” the leader says with a sneer. “We can stand to lose some market value on one of you.”

Nightwing snorts, a clear deflection, pulling attention back onto himself and off of the rest of them. “You’re gonna auction off damaged goods? Good luck with that, dumbass. A few bruises is one thing, but missing fingers? What sort of amateur operation is this?” The man glares at him, cold and deadly, but that just prompts Dick to keep going. “I mean, I guess I should have expected as much, given our last meeting. How much did that little chat cost you again? Two million?”

Nightwing’s grin is bright and easy, but something heavy is settling in Tim’s gut. Something is off here, something bad. These guys have a grudge, a bigger one than Tim had initially guessed. Nightwing's been messing up these guys' plans for months now, and it seems like the leader is itching for blood.

He really wishes Dick would just shut his mouth and play along; it’s not like they would actually cut off Jason’s fingers anyway. Dick is right that mutilating the Red Hood would be a stupid move for them financially.

The man stalks over towards Dick and the stone in Tim’s gut sinks even farther when he grabs Dick by his hair, pulling his head back and exposing his throat. Dick somehow manages to look unbothered even as the man’s other hand comes up to gently stroke his cheek with the back of his knuckles.

“I’m sure no one will mind if Red Hood is missing his trigger fingers,” he says, the anger in his voice quickly fading to amusement that redoubles Tim’s anxiety. “But… I’m sure a not-so-mouthy Nightwing would also do pretty well with this crowd. I’m sure people will pay big money to never have to hear you run your mouth again.”

“Good luck,” Dick says. “You wouldn’t be the first to try. I don’t have an off button.”

The man hums. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that.” A lazy finger traces over Dick’s lips. 

“Wait. What are you—” Dick tries to jerk back, but the man grabs him firmly by the chin, fingers gripping hard enough to bruise. With a snap of his fingers, two other traffickers rush to his side, one of them pulling out a knife.

Tim’s body goes cold. No. No, they wouldn’t. His lips are numb, fingers gripping the arms of the chair so tightly it feels as though the wood might splinter beneath him.

“Hold his head,” the leader instructs, taking the knife from his lackey. They do, even as Dick bucks and struggles, giving them a run for their money. 

“Hey, stop.” It’s Jason of all people who speaks up. Tim’s mouth is stuck closed. He can’t move, can’t breathe, can’t even blink. “You’ve made your point, alright? We get it. You’re not playing around. You're the real deal. Now get away from him.”

They ignore him, one of the men wrenching Dick’s mouth open while the leader toys with the knife. The metal glints dangerously in the flickering light. Dick is struggling with everything he’s got now, trying to bite down on the fingers in his mouth, but as valiant as his efforts are, he’s tied up and no match for the two giant men keeping his mouth from closing.

“Stop it,” Damian snaps, voice wavering slightly. 

Tim thinks he might be sick. Dick whines, something slipping out of him that’s high and scared. Batman. Where is Batman? Where is Bruce?

“No,” Steph whispers. “No, you can’t.”

This can’t be happening. This is a dream. A nightmare. It has to be.

“Get the hell away from him,” Jason growls. “Get the fuck back or I swear—”

Tim unfreezes in time with Dick’s first choked-off sound of pain. 

* * *

The room erupts into noise, and Cass can’t even begin to decipher who’s the loudest. 

Jason rages, bucking wildly in his seat as he hurls increasingly more graphic threats at their captors. He’s all desperation and fear behind the anger, he gaze staying locked on Dick’s panicked face. 

Tim has been frozen, but the knife in Dick’s mouth seemed to snap him out of his stupor. A tear rolls down his cheek as he struggles, rubbing his wrists raw and straining every muscle in his body. 

Stephanie is much the same. She hovers somewhere between Jason’s comfortable rage and Tim’s sad disbelief. “You can’t do this,” she yells as she twists and tugs. “You can’t, you can’t. Come on!”

Damian’s cries are wordless after his initial heartbroken, “Nightwing!” He screams for their big brother and Cass has never been so sure of Damian’s age as she is in this very moment. He screams like his world is falling apart, like he’s grieving already. 

Cass herself struggles with her bonds, but she knows they won’t be able to break free. Not before they manage to finish cutting Dick’s tongue out at least. 

Instead she focuses most of her efforts on Dick, seeking out his gaze from across the room. But he’s not looking back at her. His eyes are squeezed shut behind his mask, so much pain etched into the straining lines of his face. He’s in agony, and nothing Cass does to try to reach him, to be some sort of comfort, is enough to get through to him. 

Dick can’t even scream, not properly. Not with their disgusting hands in his mouth. He tries, but it’s choked off. They’ve taken that from him too. 

Cass doesn’t kill, but she’s going to make these men wish she did. They’re going to feel every last morsel of Dick’s pain if she knows her family the way she thinks she does. 

Dick chokes and splutters, blood pouring over his lips and down his chin, staining the front of his suit. With his head tipped back the way it is, even more of that blood must be running down his throat, keeping him from breathing. His chest heaves and stutters desperately as he fights for air, choking on his own blood. 

“You’re going to kill him!” Tim screams and Cass has never heard him like this, all horrified anger and pure _terror._

“Oh, shut the hell up,” the man with the knife says and for a moment Cass fears for her other brother’s tongue as well. 

But instead the man is hurling _something_ at Tim. It lands wet against his chest before falling to the floor at his feet, and Tim must make sense of its identity before Cass can, because suddenly he’s pitching over to the side in order to vomit on the concrete floor. Something inside of him shatters, his body heaving sobs as he convulses and retches. 

“Stitch him up,” the man who just cut out Dick’s tongue instructs. “Can’t have him bleeding out on us.”

They do, while Dick sobs silently. His cheeks are wet with tears that escaped from beneath his mask and his whole body shakes just slightly. Cass worries about the needle deep in his mouth and worries even more that he could go into shock. If he does, they’ll likely lose him for good. That cannot happen.

By the time the men step away, finally removing their hands from Dick, there is blood all down his front and coating the men’s hands and clothing. Dick’s chin drops to his chest, and Cass can’t tell if it’s because he’s exhausted and in-pain, or if he simply doesn’t want to face the other people in the room. He feels humiliated, for some reason Cass cannot even begin to understand. This was not his fault, and none of them blame him for it. He is their strong big brother but that does mean he cannot let himself crack every now and then. They will defend him to their last breath if need be. 

“Wing. Hey,” Jason calls, something impossibly soft in his voice. Everything aches, for all of them, all the way down to their cores to see Dick hurting this way. “You gotta stay awake, man. Stay with us.” 

_Talk to us,_ Cass knows he wants to say. The standard procedure for trying to prevent shock. 

It’s horrific, devastating, what they’ve done to her brother. Most of the room feels blinding anger or rolling horror—and Cass feels both of those things—but more than anything she feels sad. She does not kill, doesn’t want to kill. She is not a weapon, but she is a sister, and everything in her hurts and twists and aches to see her older brother fall apart like this. 

Dick is family. He is protection and love and big brother in every sense. And he is fiercely loved back by every last one of his siblings. It hurts them, to see him hurt. They are panicking a bit, unsure of how they’re supposed to handle this. 

Dick is observant. Not on Cass’s level, but still. He sees and understands, even when no one is talking. But unlike her, Dick’s first language is speech. It’s comforting words and snapping arguments and warm conversations that make people feel loved, wanted, comfortable. 

It makes her impossibly sad thinking about how Dick will never be able to use his voice again. He will still be able to speak, but...

Cass knows what it’s like to not have a voice, and the immense struggle it takes to try and gain one after it’s been ripped away from you. Their stories are not the same, but there is a bit of overlap, and Cass’s heart aches for her older brother. She will help him, when this is all over. The others will too, even if they may be a bit lost. All of them are far too used to their oldest brother’s voice in their ears, but they will adapt. They will not lose Dick, and Dick will not lose them. Cass is determined.

She tries really, really hard to not let the weight of everything crush her right now. Dick will be okay. Different, but okay. 

They just have to get out of here, and the rest comes later. 

She focuses on the cuffs around her wrists and not the stinging behind her eyes. 

* * *

Jason is seated closest to Dick, close enough to hear his ragged breathing hitch every now and then. He’s conscious, Jason can tell that much, although he’s not quite sure how. There’s blood all down the front of Dick’s chest and lap, drying in the fabric of his suit. It drips from his thighs to form a small puddle on the floor.

The sight makes Jason’s vision flare green, anger boiling in his veins with nowhere to go because he’s stuck in this stupid fucking chair.

Stuck, helpless to do anything but watch as some no-name piece of shit human traffickers _cut out his brother’s tongue._

He’s going to kill them. He’s going to kill them slow and bloody. He doesn’t give a damn what Batman thinks and Dick is in no place to talk him out of it.

The thought makes him go cold. Dick Grayson, never speaking again.

He can remember being fourteen, walking out of school only to be intercepted by a sort-of big brother slinging his arm around his shoulders and leading him to his bike to “kidnap” him for the day. Dick would take him to get ice cream or hit balls at the park across town. He was the only one, back then, who understood what it was like to live with Bruce, to have him as a sort of dad, to deal with the balance between Bruce and Batman. To be Robin.

Dick was so cool back then. He’d been Nightwing, the first Robin. And maybe Jason's hero worship had been misplaced, but damn, Dick is still his brother, no matter how horribly fucked up things got between them. 

Dick was always there. Even in Jason’s lowest moments, if Jason had really needed him, Dick would have come running, if only Jason had called. Dick has been his brother since the start, pretty much since Jason had swung at Batman with a tire iron. And look where that had gotten him—tied up in a human trafficking base and missing a tongue. 

The overwhelming anger comes and goes in waves, but the nausea never wanes. He’s desperate to do something, _anything,_ to help Dick right now. And he can’t. He can’t and he hates it. Hates it more than anything.

“Wing,” he calls again, tugging uselessly at his restraints, because Dick hasn’t shifted in a while. “Wing you’re gonna be okay. Keep your eyes open, alright? Stay awake.”

Dick nods slightly, just barely perceptible even to the trained eye, but at least it’s something. It’s something that Jason can do, no matter how minimal. It’s not enough, but it’s something.

Except… Jason doesn’t know what to do now. Where do they go from here? He can’t keep Dick talking to keep him from going into shock. His hands are tied, so Dick can’t even sign. They’ve taken away his voice in every sense. It’s cruel. It’s horrible and cruel and it never should have happened. 

Not to Dick.

Dick isn’t quiet, it’s just not his nature. He’s overly chatty, all bad puns and obnoxious optimism, getting on Jason’s every last nerve. He’s a walking, talking migraine waiting to happen. 

But as annoying as it is, Jason can’t imagine his life without Dick Grayson’s useless chatter. 

This is Jason’s fault. Not like how Bruce might blame himself, or how the other kids might. No. This is Jason’s fault, no matter what anyone says. It was Jason who Dick was protecting by mouthing off. Dick saved him his fingers, but at way too high a price. He flexes his hands reflexively, wishing more than anything that today had gone differently.

It should have been him.

* * *

Sometimes, on really bad nights, when he wakes up with tears drying on his cheeks and his pajamas sticking to his skin with sweat, Damian will fumble one-handed for his cell phone and call Grayson. He always picks up. Always, no matter how late it is. 

And sometimes, when Grayson is actually at the Manor, Damian will creep through the hallways and slip into his brother’s room. Grayson was trained by their father, so he always wakes up as soon as Damian so much as cracks the door open, lifting his comforter for Damian to crawl in beside him. He would tuck Damian under his chin and wrap him up in his arms so Damian can hear his heartbeat right next to his ear. 

“You’re okay, Dami,” he whispers, voice heavy with sleep. “You’re safe.”

And Damian usually nods, but sometimes that isn’t enough. Sometimes, when he’s still shaking even in his brother’s arms, Grayson would brush his fingers through the tangles in Damian’s hair and softly sing him lullabies in a language Damian doesn’t even know. The ones Grayson’s own mother used to sing to him. 

Grayson taught him how to be good, how to be loved and how to love in return, even if he still isn’t very good at it. Grayson, with his soft reassurances and those ridiculous nicknames and cries of “Robin!” and bright laughter and carefully whispered “I love you”s. 

Damian will never hear any of that ever again. He will never hear his brother’s voice again. Not once, when Grayson tugged him close and kissed his forehead and murmured “I love you,” did Damian say it back. And now he’ll never get that chance, because Grayson will never tell Damian that he loves him again. 

He should want to kill them, these men that hurt his brother. And some part of him does, more than anything. He wants them to suffer. He wants to burn this place to the ground. 

But mostly he’s just numb. He’s never felt like this ever in his life, so cold and unfeeling. He’d thought he’d been that way, back with the League. He’d thought that he was above feelings, but that was nothing like this. He feels like he’s shut down, unable to do anything but stare, mostly unseeing, at the shallow rise and fall of Grayson’s blood-stained chest. 

Richard Grayson was the first person to show him patience and guidance and affection. He’s the best thing that’s ever happened to Damian, and Damian failed him. 

“Nightwing,” Damian tries, his voice half lodged in his throat. 

He can tell Grayson hears him, but he makes no move to acknowledge that Damian even made a sound. There’s something tight in Damian’s chest, and he knows that if he opens his mouth again, all that will come out will be a sob, so he keeps it glued shut. Grayson deserves better than his tears. He deserves someone who could have spared him this pain, someone who protected him, like a good partner should. 

_“We were the best,”_ he used to say. Maybe Grayson was, but not Damian. 

Damian is nothing but a failure, and his brother is paying for it. 

* * *

Batman does even show up, but he’s way too late. There’s a tongue sitting on the floor by Tim’s feet, Dick is practically catatonic, and Steph has never seen Damian look so scared. 

Bruce picks the locks on Cass’s restraints first, probably expecting her to get to work on unlocking everyone else, but instead she rushes straight for Dick, kneeling down in front of him and trying to get his attention. Cass cups his cheek, only for Dick to flinch away, avoiding making eye contact with her. She’s mumbling something too low for Steph to hear, but she can see Dick shaking his head back and forth. Slowly, Cass unlocks his restraints before taking his hands in hers. Steph can’t tell which one of them is trembling; maybe both.

Red Hood appears in front of Steph, cutting off her line of sight and beginning to work on her own restraints. 

“You okay?” he asks, unusually soft. 

Steph shakes her head. “Are you?”

Despite everything, Jason huffs a soft, short laugh. “Touche. Big Bird is strong though. He’ll be okay.” It sounds more like he’s trying to convince himself than anyone else, but Steph nods along just the same.

“Yeah…”

Her restraints fall open and Jason moves away, helping Bruce finish up Tim’s bindings. Steph spares Cass and Dick a final glance before turning back to the last Bat, the littlest one. Damian looks incredibly small and lost, standing alone in the corner. 

“Hey,” Steph says, moving towards him. He whines slightly when he blocks his view of Dick, but otherwise doesn’t seem to react. 

Her heart aching, Steph pulls him into a hug. Damian is just small enough to tuck under her chin and wrap up completely in her arms. He’s just a kid. Just a little kid. He doesn’t deserve this, doesn’t deserve to have to watch something so horrific happen to the person he looks up to the most. His whole body is shaking almost violently even wrapped up in such a tight hug and Steph can feel tears beginning to soak through the fabric at her collarbone. 

“It’s gonna be okay, baby bat. He’s going to be okay.”

“I failed him,” Damian says, voice hitching.

“No,” she denies immediately. That line of thinking needs to end _now._ “No, you could never, kiddo. This wasn’t your fault. And he would never, ever blame you. None of us would.”

“We failed then,” Damian amends. “We failed him. We should have saved him.”

Despite her own misplaced guilt, Steph shakes her head. “No. This is no one’s fault but those men. And I promise you, Wing is going to be okay.”

“You don’t know that,” Damian snaps, but it lacks his usual bite. And what’s worse, he only pulls away from her hug enough so that he can walk freely, leaving her arm wrapped loosely around his shoulders. 

Steph focuses on her breathing, forcing it to stay slow and deep. She feels sick, although the fact that she still has the contents other stomach means she’s going better than Tim, who looks as pale as a sheet and more than a little green around his bloodless lips. 

Steph isn’t exactly a member of the family. She’s not Bruce’s daughter, has always had a… _complicated_ relationship with Batman to say the least. But that doesn’t mean that they don’t feel like family more often than not. Damian certainly feels like her kid brother, and both Cass and Tim mean more to her than just two of her best friends. Dick isn’t her brother, but he’s something almost as close, and it’s killing her to see him this way. Even if his and Steph’s relationship had also started off a bit rocky, Dick has proven himself to be a good guy over and over and over again. Steph loves this stupid little almost-family, and she’s terrified that this will break something in all of them. 

Dick is on his own feet now, looking a little wobbly but batting away any attempts to help support him. He walks out of the room unaided, but that doesn’t stop Bruce from hovering or Jason from casting him sidelong glances or Damian from trailing after him like a lost puppy, dragging Steph with him when she refuses to let him go. 

“It’s gonna be okay,” she whispers to Damian again, wishing she could fully believe it. She knows she’s fooling absolutely no one by the way Damian’s fingers curl into her cape.

* * *

When Bruce was twenty-six, his life changed dramatically. It was for the better, overall, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t also the hardest thing he’d ever done.

Dick had been eight, grieving and angry. He’d yelled and stomped and pushed boundaries, cried until he was out of tears. Bruce had been lost and completely out of his depth, but they’d pushed through and eventually figured each other out with _a lot_ of patience. 

And eventually, Dick had healed, and Bruce got to see just how remarkable he was. Dick was—and still is—bright and kind. He was always moving, always talking. For the first time in over a decade, the halls of the Manor echoed with laughter and conversation, and remained that way for the next ten years.

Bruce had thought that his world had gone deathly silent after Dick left the first time. This was somehow infinitely worse. 

Dick, his bright, brilliant child, is curled up on a cot in the medbay. The rest of his family is milling about, trying to look busy but failing at it miserably. The kids all hover, none more than Damian, but as much as Bruce understands their need to stay glued to Dick’s side, he needs them to leave. _Dick_ needs them to leave. His oldest won’t allow himself to break down with the other kids present. It’s just the way he is, unwilling to be anything other than a safety net for his siblings.

“Alfred,” he says softly. The other man had just finished checking the sutures in Dick’s mouth and deemed them acceptable. “Why don’t you take the others upstairs and try and get some food in them before bed. I… I’ll stay here with Dick.”

Alfred nods in understanding, giving Dick’s hand one last shaky squeeze before setting about rounding up the others. They don’t go easy, but no one says no to Alfred, and no one much has the heart to fight him right now anyway. Slowly but surely the cave empties out, leaving Bruce and Dick alone.

As gently as he can, Bruce settles on the edge of Dick’s bed, reaching out a trembling hand to brush his son’s hair from his forehead. The strands are sweat-soaked and greasy, but Bruce carefully works through the tangles, being sure not to pull too hard. 

After several minutes, the silence hanging heavy between them, Dick rolls over onto his back. Bruce thinks his heart must shatter into a million pieces when he sees the tears that slip down his cheeks.

 _Dad,_ Dick signs weakly, mouth opening and closing uselessly. _Dad._

“Oh, chum.” Bruce breaks, gathering Dick into his arms as his boy sobs against his chest. “It’s going to be alright, Dick. You’ll get through this. We will deal with this, just like we’ve dealt with everything else that’s been thrown at us. Everything will be okay.” Dick shakes his head, still sobbing, but Bruce shushes him, pressing a long kiss to the crown of his hair. “ _Yes,_ sweetheart. I swear. You will get through this.”

And they will, although Bruce knows it will be incredibly hard. Other than Dick and Bruce, the family’s ASL is shoddy at best; some of his children don’t even know the basics. Cass, for instance, never learned any, instead preferring to use her own silent language whenever possible. Jason is reasonably fluent, he thinks, and Tim at least learned some basics as part of his Robin training, but they’ll all have to learn now. For Dick. This is just a part of their life now.

From now on, the only time Bruce will hear his oldest son’s voice is in memories and old recordings. Childhood family videos and the smattering of voicemails still on Bruce’s cellphone. Some no-name traffickers have stolen his son’s voice, that very same voice that brought light and levity to the darkness of Bruce’s life. It feels like some horrible nightmare that he just can’t wake up from, and he can’t even imagine how Dick must be feeling. 

He pulls back slightly, enough to see fresh tears still spilling down Dick’s cheeks. “Dickie, I need you to be honest with me. Scale of one to ten, how bad is the pain?”

One of Dick’s hands remains fisted in Bruce’s shirt, but the other uncurls stiffly to hold up the sign for seven. A seven. A seven in physical pain, so much worse in emotional and psychological damage. 

“Oh, sweetheart.” A seven for someone with Dick’s pain tolerance must be agony. “I’ll get you something, alright?”

 _No._ Dick shakes his head, hold tightening on Bruce’s shirt. _Not yet. Please._

“Alright,” he soothes. “Alright, chum. I’m not going anywhere. Not anytime soon. I’m right here, as long as you need me.”

 _Dad,_ Dick signs again, and Bruce’s heart somehow cracks even further. It doesn’t really mean anything—it’s not like Bruce has a sign name—but that doesn’t stop the overwhelming parental _need_ to protect his boy, to hold him in his arms and never let him go again. 

“I’m so sorry, chum.” He should have been there. He should have been faster, should have saved his children sooner. He could have spared Dick this pain if he’d just been a little faster.

 _Not your fault,_ Dick says, his misplaced loyalty as strong as ever. He cuts Bruce off before he can argue. _I love you._ His hand is shaking badly, but there’s no mistaking the sign. 

“I love you too, chum,” he says, throat tight. Those words have always been tricky for him, but he won’t deny Dick in this instance. Besides, even if the words are hard, the feelings are still strong. Dick is his son, his very first child. _Anything_ he can do to help Dick get through this, he will gladly do. He feels utterly useless enough as it is.

_Stay? Please?_

“Of course. I told you, I’m not going anywhere.”

Dick nods, slumping against Bruce’s chest. Carefully, Bruce helps him lay back down, instead moving to hold his hand. He watches as Dick’s breathing slowly evens out, his eyes drooping closed and his grip in Bruce’s hand going lax. Even with his son finally asleep, Bruce doesn’t move from his spot. There will be a time for hunting down the men that did this, and as much as the anger burns in the pit of his stomach, right now his son needs him here more. Justice will have to come later.


	2. Chapter 2

Blinding pain, scorching and freezing him all at the same time. There’s the disgusting feeling of blood quickly filling his mouth, choking him as it runs back down his throat and over his lips. It feels like it’s filling up his lungs. He’s drowning already, and the knife is still sawing, dirty disgusting fingers keeping his head still and his mouth pried open. His jaw is stretched so wide he feels like it might snap beneath their hands, but none of that compares to the agonizing  _ horror _ that washes over him.

Distantly, he hears someone screaming, but he can’t place who it is. Maybe it's him. 

The pain goes on forever, not ceasing even when the men leave, finally allowing his jaw some reprieve. His chin drops to his chest, no energy left for anything except just trying to keep breathing. At least he isn’t swallowing mouthful after mouthful of blood, although he still tastes it, thick and metallic. 

Someone speaks to him, tries to at least. Jason, he’s pretty sure. Dick can’t work up the energy to answer, and then realizes that even if he wanted to, he couldn’t. His tongue is gone, leaving his mouth empty except for the stinging stitches and shooting phantom pains that pulse through his skull until he feels like his head just might explode. 

Jason speaks again, begging Dick to stay awake. God. His family. His baby siblings.  _ Damian. _ They watched it happen. His face burns in sudden shame, even though he knows that there was nothing he could do. He’s Nightwing, has been doing this job longer than any of them. And he’s their big brother. They aren’t supposed to see him fail like this. 

He wants his parents, wants Bruce more than anything, to swoop in and take all the pain away. To make everything okay again. And he’d thought he was above wanting Bruce to hold his hand, above needing his dad to make everything better, but he doesn’t feel strong now. He doesn’t feel like Nightwing. He feels small and scared, broken and empty. He feels like he’s floating, Jason’s voice nothing more than a very distant anchor tying him here. He drifts with the current, letting it take him. He doesn’t want to be here. He doesn’t want to exist.

It must be hours later, or maybe even days, before he’s blearily blinking his eyes open. He distantly remembers Batman showing up to rescue them, Cass kneeling in front of him, Bruce helping him stand. 

He remembers a too-long ride home, all of them sandwiched in the back of the Batmobile that stopped fitting the whole family years ago. Damian had been curled up practically on his lap, tears on his cheeks. Dick did that. He put those tears on his kid’s face. 

He remembers curling up on a cot, the rest of the family flitting around, crowding him. 

“Did you kill him?” he hears someone ask. Bruce, he thinks, although the voice is oddly gentle. A hand cards through Dick’s hair.

“No, but I should have.” That’s Jason again _. _ The growl in his voice makes Dick feel uneasy, but he doesn’t have the energy to react. He feels hollow. Empty. He never wants to move again. The very thought sounds utterly exhausting, like it just might kill him.

“He took Grayson from us.”  _ Damian. _ His little boy. His voice comes from somewhere close, and Dick is suddenly aware of a tiny body pressed against his side. Warm and grounding, but Dick doesn’t want to be grounded. He wants to float away, leave everything behind. 

“ _ No, _ ” Bruce stresses. “No. Dick is right here. He’s not going anywhere.”

It had felt as though the walls were closing in on him, everything too close and loud and hot, until finally something had made them all leave and only his dad remained. Dick had let go after that, let himself slip away. It had been too exhausting to try to do anything else.

* * *

He wakes up slow, blinking up at a familiar ceiling, although it takes a moment to place it as his own room in the Manor. Someone must have moved him up from the Cave to be more comfortable while he was sleeping. His family is good like that.

Dick turns his head, his whole body exhausted beyond belief but relatively free of pain, and finds Bruce dozing at his bedside. One hand supports his chin while the other lays limp on the bed, just centimeters away from Dick’s own hand. He reaches out, grabbing at Bruce’s fingers once more, causing him to finally stir to life.

“Dick,” Bruce says, meeting Dick’s eyes immediately. “Hey. How are you feeling?” 

He has deep, dark circles under his eyes, and for the first time since Dick was young and small, he thinks that his dad must be old. Or at the very least, getting there. When Dick had been eight, Bruce’s twenty-six had been so big and wise. At the time, Dick had thought that his guardian must have known everything in the world. 

He’s the same age now as Bruce had been then—he knows, now, how wrong he had been back then. Raising Damian had been more than enough to prove that. 

Dick opens his mouth to respond, before everything comes crashing back down. All that escapes him is a pitiful whimper before he’s snapping his mouth closed, the sudden movement tugging slightly at the stitches in the back of his mouth.

_ Okay, _ he signs, fighting back tears.

Clearly, Bruce sees straight through him because the next thing Dick knows, he’s on his feet, hands hovering awkwardly above Dick. Dick waves him off. He’s not in pain, not really, it’s just… a lot. 

He concentrates on his breathing, trying to put all those breathing exercises Bruce taught him to good use. It takes several minutes, but he eventually manages to calm down enough to blink away the tears and think more clearly.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Bruce asks. He’s still hovering, hands unsure and face pinched painfully. 

Dick nods slowly. He’s fine. He’s going to be fine. He is. 

_ Yes. I’m okay. _

Bruce sighs, exhaling shakily and scrubbing at his worn face. “You up for a few visitors then? They’ve all been dying to see you. It’s… You’ve been asleep for almost two days.”

He hesitates, but then nods. He knows he really scared the kids. The least he can do is prove to them that he’s still alive. 

_ Yeah. Just a couple at a time though maybe. _ God, he loves them, but his siblings are a lot, and Dick still feels so tired all the way down to his bones.

Bruce nods in understanding. “Any particular order?”

Dick shakes his head no, then hesitates, hand coming up to sign a  _ D _ and not getting any further before Bruce is agreeing with him.

“I don’t think Superman could keep him away for much longer,” Bruce says, half of a chuckle in his voice. Dick smiles, feeling suddenly warmer. “I’ll go grab Damian and Cass.”

Those are good choices, so Dick nods, smiling, and Bruce disappears. He’s gone for only a few moments before Damian and Cass are slipping through his door. They both move quickly, just slightly slower than a jog—a scampering, gliding walk that looks eerily similar on the both of them, even if Cass is a bit more graceful.

“Grayson,” Damian whispers, stopping beside the bed and keeping about two feet of space in between them. His hands twitch, fingers curling, and Dick can see how badly he wants to lunge across the space between them even as he holds himself back. 

Cass, however, has none of the same hesitations. She climbs onto the bed immediately, wrapping Dick up in a tight hug. “You are awake.  _ Finally. _ Scared us very badly.”

_ Sorry, _ he pulls back just enough to sign, although neither Cass nor Damian know ASL. Cass seems to understand though, frowning down at him. 

“No,” she says simply, tapping at the furrow between his brows to try and cheer him up. “You will be okay. That is all that matters.”

He watches her face, sees the plain, open honesty there. Their situations are very different but still, Cass understands more than any of them what he’s struggling with. And with her, he realizes, not having his physical speaking voice  _ doesn’t matter. _ His sister will still be able to understand him exactly the same. 

He holds up the  _ I love you _ sign, hoping that the expression on his face is enough to get the message across. Cass beams, wrapping him up in yet another hug.

“Little brother,” she says, cheek pressed to Dick’s shoulder, “come join.”

Dick turns his head to look at Damian, horrified to see how small and scared he looks. Instantly he throws a hand out, reaching for him. 

Damian eyes him like he might suddenly change his mind, but finally accepts, slowly taking Dick’s hand and letting himself be tugged bodily up onto the bed. Cass shifts over to Dick’s left side so that Damian can snuggle in on his right.

“Are you truly okay?” Damian whispers, turning his head to gaze up at Dick. His eyes are shiny, lips trembling slightly as he speaks. 

Dick nods. _ I will be, _ he signs. Damian just frowns harder and Dick knows he must be so frustrated at not being able to understand what Dick is saying anymore. He’ll pick up ASL quickly though, Dick has no doubt about it. Damian has always had a knack for languages. It won’t last long, this little limbo where he and Damian can’t quite understand each other anymore. He knows, though, that they’ll both hate every single minute of it. 

Cass and Damian stay with him for a while, Damian’s ear turned to listen to his still-beating heart while Cass plays with his hair, braiding the slightly too short strands and brushing them out on repeat. It’s nice, all things considered, but Dick is starting to get restless. It’s too quiet—neither of the siblings with him at the moment are very chatty—reminding him painfully of the emptiness inside his own mouth. 

It’s odd, the way it feels like he  _ should _ still have a tongue. He can still will himself to move it, can even imagine it moving and following his mental commands, but in reality there’s nothing there but the stinging incisions, and pretty soon even that will be gone. There will just be the hollow, numb emptiness. 

He ignores it as best he can, squeezing Cass and Damian in his arms. It almost works.

“Hey,” Tim says, suddenly opening the door and poking his head in. “Time’s up. Let someone else have a turn with him.” He locks eyes with Dick, something akin to a tentative smile breaking out on his face. “Hey,” he says softly. Dick waves back, smiling.

Jason pushes in behind him, throwing the door open and stepping around Tim. “Scram, kiddos.”

Cass frowns as she shifts, rising from the bed. “Not kiddo. Not to you. Same age.”

“You sure about that, short stack?” Jason asks, eyebrow raised. Cass sticks her tongue out at him before dragging a softly whining Damian out behind her.

“I’m coming back once they’re done,” Damian demands, leaving no room for arguments. Dick gives him a thumbs up before Cass tugs him the rest of the way out of the room, shutting the door behind them.

“Steph had to go home while you were sleeping, but she said to tell you that she’ll be back for dinner tomorrow, so you aren’t getting out of seeing her,” Tim says, moving to hover beside the bed while Jason rounds it to plant himself down in the armchair on Dick’s other side. “How are you feeling?”

_ Okay, _ he says. It’s… not quite the truth, but he doesn’t even know how to put his feelings into coherent thoughts right now, much less words that Tim could understand.

“Fuck, Dickie,” Jason whispers suddenly, anger lacing his voice. “You shouldn’t have said anything. You should have just let them cut off my fingers. It wasn’t worth  _ this. _ ”

_ To be fair, I didn’t know they would do this. _

It was meant to be lighthearted, ease the deep-set lines around Jason’s frown, but instead he watches Jason collapse in on himself even more. And yeah, maybe some selfish part of Dick is being truthful. Maybe if he’d known that they would literally cut out his tongue, he wouldn’t have said anything. But in the moment, he’d just wanted to get the attention off of his little siblings, and that’s all that mattered. What happened is horrible and Dick would be lying if he said he was having an easy time coping, but what’s done is done. He doesn’t blame Jason for what some psychopaths did to him.

_ Not your fault, _ he signs, slow and deliberate, making sure that Jason understands what he’s saying. It’s a hard enough concept for any of them to get through their heads on a good day.

Jason doesn’t really seem like he agrees, shaking his head and refusing to quite look Dick in the eye, but he plops down into the chair beside Dick anyway, resting his elbows on his knees. Dick waves for Tim to join him. Tim is eighteen now, not really his baby brother anymore, but he looks small enough and scared enough that he might as well be that same kid he used to go see baseball games with and take train surfing. 

Tim doesn’t cuddle up next to him like Damian, but he does go in for a tight hug, his chin clumsily hooking over Dick’s shoulder in his haste. “You’re really going to be okay, right?”

It takes Tim a moment to realize that Dick can’t answer him if he’s got his face pressed into Dick’s neck, but with a quick tap to the back of his head, he pulls back with a sheepish look. 

_ I’ll be fine. It might take a while to… get used to everything, but.  _ He breathes deeply, works hard to keep his fingers from trembling the way they want to.  _ I’ll be okay. Eventually. _ Jason translates for him when Tim can’t follow along, Dick’s chest squeezing uncomfortably at the idea of not being able to talk to his little brother. 

“Anything you need,” Tim says, “let us know. We’ll do whatever we can to help you. Right, Jay?”

Jason grunts, but when Dick looks at him, he nods. “Yeah. ‘Course we will.” Then he grins, something mischievous that reminds Dick sharply of a boy with curly hair and a hand-me-down canary-yellow cape. “Hey, you want me to be Nightwing for you?”

_No._ _Definitely not._ Dick glares at him. Even though he knows Jason won’t do anything like he did last time he stole Nightwing’s identity, it’s still a ridiculous proposition. This didn’t break him. He’s still Nightwing. _I still have all my limbs, idiot._

_ You’re no fun, _ Jason signs back.

Tim watches their hands, eyes bouncing back and forth between them. “We’ve started taking classes online,” he blurts out. “ASL classes, I mean. It’s only been a day, but… We’re gonna learn, Dick, I swear.”

_ I know.  _ Dick smiles at him.  _ Thank you. _

Tim clearly catches both signs, because something in his expression lightens just slightly. It makes him look more like himself.

“You done napping yet, Big Bird?” Jason asks. 

_ Yes, _ Dick says.  _ You have something planned? _

“Yep.” Jason kicks his feet up on Dick’s bed and reaches into the drawer of his nightstand to pull out a remote. “The TV here is way better than the one at my place.”

Dick rolls his eyes, tugging Tim against his side. He goes easy after the initial surprise, settling in almost as easy as Damian and Cass had. Dick wraps an arm around him and lets Tim rest his head on his shoulder. He presses his own cheek to Tim’s hair and does everything he can to focus on the TV. 

* * *

He doesn’t know how long it is before there’s a soft knock on the door and Bruce is ushering Tim and Jason out of his room. 

“Hey, chum. Feeling any better?”

He goes to nod, to brush off Bruce’s worry, but finds that he can’t. He’s frozen, and it’s all he can do to not break down in sobs all of a sudden.

“What’s wrong?” Bruce asks, hands hovering, ready to do whatever he can to ease Dick’s pain. But he can’t. He can’t fix this. No one can.

_ I’m okay.  _ The tears on his cheeks disagree.  _ I’m okay. _

“Tell me. Please.”

Dick shakes his head.  _ I have to be strong for them. I don’t want them to have to worry about me.  _

Bruce’s face crumples. “Sweetheart, no. You don’t have to do that. You’ve been through something so horrible. It’s not… No one expects you to just be okay right away.” He brushes a hand through Dick’s hair. “You don’t always have to be their rock. Let us support you now.”

But he doesn’t want that. It feels too much like pity, and he doesn’t want that. He just… He just wants things to be normal.

He wants this to have never happened at all, but since he can’t have that, he’ll just have to settle for everyone acting normal.

“Alright fine,” Bruce says, seemingly reading his thoughts. “Just me, then. Let me support you, son. Please.” 

He drops a kiss onto Dick’s forehead and that rare show of affection is enough to break him. He shakes openly, Bruce’s arms wrapped tight around him. 

_ Why? Why did this have to happen? Why did they do this to me?  _

Bruce shushes him gently. “I don’t know, Dickie. I don’t. I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry. If I could take this from you I would. In a heartbeat.”

Dick can only nod.

* * *

“Hi,” Steph says, voice soft as she wraps her arms around Dick’s middle. “Sorry I wasn’t here when you woke up. I’m really glad you’re okay.” She sniffles, pulling back and wiping at watery eyes with the back of her wrist. 

_ Thanks. I’m glad you’re here. _

Steph smiles, although her eyes are red. Tentatively, she holds out the sign for  _ I love you,  _ her arm shaking slightly. “I’ve been practicing.”

Dick grins and ruffles her hair, the knot in his chest easing slightly at the sound of her bubbling laughter. He needs this, to still be able to tease his family, to have normal happy moments. To feel normal, not hollow or broken.

_ Come on, _ he says.  _ We can’t keep Alfred waiting. _ Despite Bruce’s hesitance to let Dick to anything but rest, Alfred had been very insistent that they all be there for family dinner, and Dick is thankful for some semblance of normalcy. 

He has to start finding a new normal sometime. 

He and Steph walk side by side into the dining room. Damian and Cass are the only ones already there, Cass not-so-subtly munching on a stolen dinner roll while Damian scowls at something on his phone. He looks up, though, when Dick and Steph walk in, and the scowl doesn’t dissipate completely but it does fade.

_ Hello, G-r-a-y-s-o-n, _ Damian greets, signing as Dick plops down in the seat beside him. Steph and Cass disappear into their own quiet conversation, most of which involves Steph trying to steal what’s left of Cass’s roll and Cass not giving her even a ghost of a chance. 

_ Hello,  _ Dick says back. 

_ T-o-d-d thinks it would be a good idea for us to practice tonight. _ Damian’s signs are stiff and slow, each completed with the same careful perfection that Damian puts into everything he does. 

_ That was nice of him, _ Dick replies.  _ But you don’t have to do that for me. _

_ Nonsense. I-m-m-e-r-s-i-o-n is the best way to learn a language.  _

Dick smiles, warmth blooming in his chest.  _ You’re the best kid in the world, you know that? _

_ Yes, _ Damian signs, but the blush that spreads across his cheeks is even more telling. 

They chat for a few minutes, Dick gently helping Damian along when he gets to a word he doesn’t know how to sign. The rest of the family files in slowly, each of them shooting Dick slightly-wary smiles as they find their seats. Bruce is last, sitting down just moments before Alfred brings in dinner, Jason helping him. 

A wave of relief sweeps over Dick when he realizes what dinner is tonight. Soup. Something Dick can eat without much difficulty, even if he’ll probably skip the bread for now. He’s thankful that he won’t have to embarrass himself in front of the family trying to eat. That’s something that’s been frustrating him a lot since waking up, yet another unexpected complication. 

He can still taste, at the very least, but only at the back of his throat when he swallows. It’s a weird feeling, and seems like a disservice to Alfred’s cooking. At least he can still tell it smells delicious. 

_ Thank you, _ he signs, catching Alfred’s gaze. 

Alfred merely rests a hand atop his head for a moment, eyes shining suspiciously and a fond expression on his face.  _ Eat, _ he commands.  _ You need it. _

Silent meals at this table aren’t unheard of, but they usually don’t go anything like this. Dick can remember a few awkward, quiet dinners his first few weeks at the Manor, back when Bruce didn’t know how to handle the child he’d taken in. And then when he was seventeen and eighteen and he and Bruce started fighting more often, leaving their mealtime conversations stilted and uncomfortable. Damian used to eat dinner with his headphones in and his hood up back when he’d wanted nothing to do with the fraud wearing his father’s cape and cowl. 

They didn’t usually involve seven people aggressively flapping their hands to get each other’s attention or Jason throwing dinner rolls at anyone who attempted to speak verbally. Tim was a frequent victim, maybe because he was struggling with ASL or maybe because Jason just discovered that he really liked pegging him between the eyes with chunks of bread. 

Dick smiles, watching his siblings. Jason attempts to hit Steph, only for Cass to snatch the bread out of the air and shove it into her own mouth.

_ Gross. _ Steph signs.  _ Thank you for saving me, but now you have J-a-s-o-n g-e-r-m-s in your mouth. _

Cass just shrugs.  _ Bread is good. _

It’s around that time that Alfred catches him in the act, and Jason is subjected to the sternest look Dick has ever seen on Alfred’s face. The bread throwing stops after that.

Bruce catches Dick’s eyes as they’re finishing up with dinner.  _ You okay? _

Dick pauses, has to think about it. He hasn't forgotten, exactly—it would be pretty much impossible to forget at this point—but for the past hour he's actually be able to do more than just sit and dwell on what was done to him. It had still been something that had happened, but it wasn't _the_ thing. It wasn't defining. It just... was. Something painful, but also something he can live with. 

_ Yeah, B. I’m okay. It’s weird, but… I’m okay. _

_ Good,  _ is all Bruce signs, but the relieved, almost proud look on his face says everything that his words can’t, and Dick’s own smile feels actually real. 

All he wants is for things to go back to the way they were before, to feel normal, like himself again. But that can’t ever happen, he knows that, deep down. They all know that. 

But everyone’s trying. They’re trying so hard to help build a new normal for Dick and that alone lets him know that he  _ can _ survive this. He knows they want to hover—Bruce in particular—and smother him with concern, but he’s had that for the past three days and he can’t really handle it anymore. It’s just not in his nature. This dinner, his family—they’re giving him what he needs to be himself again, even after everything. They didn’t need to do this. Dick isn’t deaf. But they thought that this would make things easier for him, even if the whole dinner is halfway to a disaster. 

Well, that’s pretty standard for them anyways. Dick loves them so damn much. 

* * *

Dick wakes up immediately to the sound of his door creaking open. Dim light spills in from the hallway, Damian’s small form silhouetted in the doorway. Moving mostly on autopilot, Dick lifts his arm to pull up the comforter, and in an instant Damian is crawling in beside him. 

Just like always, Damian slots comfortably against his side and under his chin. Dick breathes in the scent of his shampoo. He’s started using the same kind Bruce uses, fancy and probably overly expensive for most twelve-year-olds.

He’s shaking in Dick’s arms, burying his nose against Dick’s neck. Instinctively, Dick opens his mouth to whisper reassurance, but quickly remembers. He sharply sucks in a gulp of air, running his fingers through feather-soft hair and trying to think about anything other than the fact that he will never speak to his brother again. Damian will never hear his voice again.

“It’s okay,” Damian whispers anyway. He relaxes, settles in Dick’s arms, just like always. “It’s alright. We are safe.”

Dick presses a kiss to the top of his kid’s head in response, and he knows Damian understands. Damian will always understand when it really matters, and Dick is so thankful for that.

Damian drifts off to sleep first, but Dick can feel himself following quickly behind him, eyelids growing heavy and head buzzing with drowsiness. He’s comfortable, though, and safe. Maybe not happy, but… content. He breathes, and feels a little less shaken than he has in days.

There’s warmth and love here, even in the silence, and that feels like something. Like it might just be enough.

**Author's Note:**

> part 2 is mostly written and should be up soon


End file.
